


be still my foolish heart, don't ruin this on me

by exhaustedwerewolf



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Crying, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Insomnia, Literal Sleeping Together, Lizard Kissin' Tuesday (Penumbra Podcast), Multi, One Shot, Panic Attacks, Second Citadel (Penumbra Podcast), Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, also don't leave a candle burning in the room you're sleeping in kids, look I drafted this in 2019 and cleaned it up this week, so have my classic flavour of bad sleep hygiene and found family hugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28098564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exhaustedwerewolf/pseuds/exhaustedwerewolf
Summary: Damien's anxiety is keeping him awake.
Relationships: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 82





	be still my foolish heart, don't ruin this on me

**Author's Note:**

> title is from [almost (sweet music) by hozier](https://open.spotify.com/track/7uttm8Iurm5uK67Vr9G2Sp?si=YAqcFAj3SqWASrq8lkvYiA)
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Amaryllis’ hut is perhaps the place where Damien feels safest. Even if it is situated outside of the Citadel walls, it is the kind of place it seems fear simply should not touch- a fortress unto itself. Especially when Rilla’s singing, entwined with Arum’s answering hum, spill out into the space as light floods a darkened hallway, as faith rushes in like a wave to fill the cavernous void of fear.

Even so, in the quiet of night, amongst the lengthening shadows- the doubt surfaces again and again, the dark, distorted crags of it exposed by the gradual retreat of the golden tide. It is a guilty, sodden weight- sometimes he feels that it seeps out from his fingertips, soaks into the wood grain of Rilla’s kitchen table and the parchments of scrawled theorems Arum scatters on every surface, spreading like an ugly stain. It feels like an act of heresy, to carry this slick and splintered thing into this sacred space- a demon, smuggled into the hallowed halls of a cathedral. 

The fear steals its way in, first as an ache in his head and in his chest, that swells and falls and swells again, and then comes the pain in his heart, each beat like waves clashing against harbour walls. When finally he must breach the surf to breathe, he kicks up from the tangle of sheets and limbs, stifles his gasps, until finally, trembling and sea-legged, he staggers to the window.

There, he throws open the shutters to drink in the cool night air, and holds himself up on the sill, a man half-drowned, clinging, spent, to the feeble raft. 

Damien is exhausted with this hateful cycle, exhausted with himself. He cannot even find it in himself to beg Saint Damien for some semblance of strength, or simply for mercy- he’s chewed his lips bloody, and when he tries to open his mouth to pray the sting of brine only makes him feel that much more asea. His eyes sear, salt-sharp, just from being open.

He flinches away, when he feels a soft touch at his shoulder, even as he realises it’s _her,_ catches her lavender scent on the night air. He turns to her, guiltily, and sees that Arum is at her side, his violet eyes luminous in the dark. He tries for a smile, even as his stomach roils like an ocean storm. 

“I didn’t intend to wake you,” he murmurs, taking Rilla’s hand- the familiar skim of her calloused fingertips is a comfort, if a distant one- the first sign of land, the echo of birdsong on the sea breeze. He brushes a kiss against her knuckles, eyes flickering between her and Arum. “My loves, you needn’t have roused yourselves on my account. I only needed some air.”

Arum’s expression softens; he takes a step towards them both, and Damien suspects he can hear the breathlessness in his voice as clearly as if he had spoken it. With a look somewhere between doubt and concern, Rilla guides her hands, still clasped with Damien’s, to his chest, and of course, his pulse betrays him- thrums against her fingertips too fast, like the beating wings of a startled bird. 

“My treacherous heart,” Damien whispers, rueful, still smiling- but he can feel the gathering wave looming ever-larger in his chest. He doesn’t realise he is still barely breathing, not until Rilla leans forward to press a kiss to the crest of his cheek, and he lets out a shuddering exhale. 

“Arum-” Amaryllis says quietly, half-turning to him, but he is already with them, encircling his arms around Damien’s shoulders and his waist, even as Rilla, wraps him in her arms, pulling his head to rest in the crook of her neck. 

“Cry if you must, honeysuckle,” Arum’s voice is hushed, the sweet, familiar sibilance of it so immeasurably comforting that something in Damien just- breaks. “I understand you humans are required to do so, on occasion.”

“ _Arum,_ ” Amaryllis says again, reproachful this time, and he feels the weight of her shift as she wriggles to glare up at Arum, but Damien’s first stifled sob interrupts her, and she inclines her head to him again, her long hair kissing his face.

“Damien,” she says, so softly that he only cries harder, hiding face in her shoulder- he reaches back blindly for Arum, clumsily grabbing hold of his arm, and Arum rumbles; a low, fond noise, not too unlike a purr.

As it turns out, Damien is too tired to cry for long. The fear begins to ebb away at last. Arum combs his claws through the tangles in his hair, and Rilla rubs soothing circles into Damien’s back, murmuring quietly. His sobs soon dissolve into stifled sniffles, him boneless in their arms. 

“You’re okay,” Rilla whispers. Damien responds with a watery sort of hiccough, and Arum’s distinct, rattling chuckle at the noise almost makes him smile. He reaches around to smooth away a tear from Damien’s face, and Rilla leans in to kiss his forehead, and then stands up on her tip-toes to peck Arum on the snout. 

“Come on, let’s get ourselves back to bed,” she murmurs.

Damien watches through half-lidded eyes as Rilla draws away and crosses the room. He hears the quiet hiss of flame as a match flares to life in the dark. Carefully, she stoops to light the oil diffuser she keeps on the little table beside the bed, brushing her hair back over her shoulder with her free hand, and Damien leans heavily into Arum and breathes the powdery, floral scent that clings to him, not unlike violets, and he loves them both so much that his throat hurts.

“Ready, honeysuckle?” 

Damien nods mutely into Arum’s scales. Arum nuzzles over his head gently with his snout before lifting him- Damien gasps a little in surprise at how effortlessly he does so, and Arum ripples in amusement again as he heads towards the bed. In truth, it’s hardly necessary- their bed is but a few paces away, but Damien, nestling comfortably into Arum’s chest and letting his eyes fall closed, has no objections.

At the soft press of the mattress, he blinks his eyes open again. Arum sets him down in the centre of the bed with uncharacteristic gentleness, and Damien presses a quick, messy kiss to his chin before he can pull away, and even smiles when Arum’s slitted pupils blow wide with surprise.

Rilla, stood at the edge of the bed now, shakes her head affectionately at the pair of them, and hands Damien a tankard. He takes a sip half expecting some bitter, grassy concoction meant to soothe his nerves, but it’s merely water, deliciously cool- the moment it passes his lips he realises abruptly how thirsty his tears have left him, and gulps the whole cup down greedily. 

“So inefficient,” Arum muses, but there’s fondness in his voice. “Tears leave humans blurry-eyed, dehydrated and vulnerable, and what for? Such a mechanism seems almost _designed_ to attract the attention of predators.” Rilla laughs lightly in response.

“Reminds me of ecdysis,” she says, elbowing him. “Sloughing off all your skin in one go also leaves one quite vulnerable, if I’m remembering right.”

“Yes, yes,” Arum hisses, flicking her lightly with his tail. “You’ve made your point.”

“My loves,” Damien croaks, leaning across the bed to set the cup on the nightstand, wiping his mouth with the cuff of his sleeve. “Your voices are truly a balm to my soul, but I would be more comfortable still if you would…” His poetry runs out and he gestures beckoningly at the pair of them. “Please?”

Arum and Amaryllis share a serpentine grin. Within moments, they are nestled around Damien- he finds his left hand laced with Rilla’s, his right grasped in Arum’s, and their own hands clasped together on his chest. The pulse of Damien’s heart is already slowing- he can feel its rhythm gentling against their fingers, and he breathes a contented sigh. 

“Goodnight,” he whispers, his voice a quiet echo of itself, like the rush of waves in the hollow of a seashell.

“Goodnight,” Arum breathes.

“Goodnight,” Rilla murmurs.

And all is blessedly still.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! as always you can find me on tumblr [@exhaustedwerewolf](https://exhaustedwerewolf.tumblr.com/)\- my ask is always open if you have any requests or if you just want to chat!


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